


Speak To Me

by FairiesMasquerade



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-21 02:31:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2451383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairiesMasquerade/pseuds/FairiesMasquerade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carol's perspective of her reunion with Daryl in 5x01 'No Sanctuary'. Caryl. One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speak To Me

_**A/N:**  I had to. This is not beta'd and has undergone nothing more than a cursory spelling and grammar check. Nevertheless, I had to post it. My feels from the spectacular Caryl reunion last night would not allow me to wait any more._

_For the record, there are TWO Dirt Poor Robins songs that inspired this one: 'Speak to Me' and 'Evergreen'. Yes, I'm aware I'm obsessed and may require an intervention. I cannot express how little I care. ;)_

* * *

 

 _Though all is bleak  
_ _And the world is broken  
_ _We know that we are evergreen  
_ _-Evergreen by Dirt Poor Robins_

The air stank of smoke. An acrid tang, thick and heavy that creeps in between the dried trees to mix with the stale stench of rot and old blood that coated her makeshift poncho. It’s enough to make her gag and so she does, dry heaving over a gnarled bush just a few feet outside the mangled gates of Terminus as her stomach clenches and twists itself into painful knots.

The phantom breaths that well up from the deep recesses of her stomach tasted faintly of pecans. She sobs even as her stomach twists and she gags again, choking on all her grief and horror until she's afraid it will never stop.

~*~

Her feet move of their own accord, almost tripping over themselves as they carry her away from the wreckage of Terminus. She can see the line of footprints in the mud, some heavy, some lighter, big and small and everything in between, leading away from the firestorm behind her and into the woods. The combined weight of the rifle over one shoulder and the bow over the other grows heavier with each step, sinking her into the soft earth. The squelch of her boots wrenching themselves free of the mud is all she can hear beyond her own panting, gasping breaths.

A shimmer of light in the corner of her vision catches her attention. It’s barely more than a stream, but it’s enough. She drops the heavy weapons and pulls the walker smothered burlap from her body with a sigh of relief before plunging her hands into the water. It’s cool, almost cold, on her skin as she splashes it over her faces and scrubs.  It’s enough to clean most of the thick grime from her face.

She’s so tired she can barely resist the urge to simply lay down among the brittle leaves and twigs, _just for a while_ , but her job here isn’t done. No matter what her reception may be, she has to _see_ them, to know for herself, before she can go back to the little cabin.

If she’s lucky, maybe she’ll hear him say her name. Just once, before she goes off on her own for good. The fact that she knows she’s being foolish isn’t enough to stop the little curl of yearning inside of her as she pushes her worn body forward, step after step.

She’s always been a little foolish, after all.

It’s another mile or so before she hears them and she stops to listen, trying to pick out voices she knows. Rick’s low drawl is immediately distinguishable to her and she tenses despite herself. There is too much unknown here, too much unresolved between them and a small part of her, the last remains of her old cowardice, wants nothing more than to run in the opposite direction so he can’t hurt her again. The strength is takes her to make that first step towards them is something she’ll never speak of to anyone, including herself.

She sees them before they see her. Her old family, with a few new faces scattered here and there. They look as ragged as she feels, all torn and smudged and bloodied. She wants to stay hidden and give herself a chance to feel them out before making herself known, but it’s the sight of him that gets her moving. _Daryl._ His back is to her and all she can see are the faded and tattered wings that decorate his vest. She surrenders to it, to _him_ , letting the heavy crossbow fall to her side as she steps into view.

It’s only as he starts to turn that she wonders what exactly _he’ll_ have to say at the sight of _her_.

She’ll take whatever Daryl, or any of the others, throw at her. It’s all that’s left for her to do, at this point.

Her stomach starts to churn again as she sees the glint of recognition in his eyes, but before she can say a word he’s running, _hurtling_ at her faster than she’s ever seen him move. It’s so fast he’s nearly a blur by the time he crashes into her, but she can still see the smile on his face. Not a twitch of his lips or even a smirk, but a _smile_. A _real_ smile. For _her_. Her arms reach out for him automatically and then she’s caught up against him _hard_ , his arms clenched so tight around her she can barely breathe. They’re wildly off balance, stumbling around and barely managing to stay upright as they cling to each other. She’s not even sure her feet are actually touching the ground. She’s not sure she cares. Instead, she’s smiling like the fool she is, hardly able to contain the laugh of sheer joy and relief bubbling up inside of her as she cries into his shoulder.  _He missed me. He missed me like I missed him. Oh God..._

She wants to speak, to say something, _anything_ , but she knows if she tried all that would come tumbling out of her lips is the sound of his name, over and over.  _Daryl. DarylDarylDaryl._

When she finally pulls back, she’s stunned to see he’s crying too. His face pulls at her heart, threading through to mend her and break her all over again as he leans in and nuzzles at her. Her fingers tangle in his dark locks even as she knows their time is short, because Rick is coming up to them with Maggie and Carl hot on his heels. It doesn’t matter, because the shuddering gasp Daryl releases into her contains the faintest of whispers, a single word she can make out from the feel of his chapped, dry lips against her skin that is everything she’s ever wanted.

_Carol._


End file.
